


Burg Saaleck and the Crimson Star

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:16:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Burg Saaleck, where legends abound.  Burg Saaleck, where the dead await.  Burg Saaleck, where the impossible can become reality.  Burg Saaleck, where a wily Gestapo Major sets a trap for Papa Bear.  Burg Saaleck, where Hogan has all the answers, as usual.  Or does he?





	Burg Saaleck and the Crimson Star

Stalag 13:  
Their missions had never taken them to Burg Saaleck, that castle up in the hills and according to all the stories Langenscheidt told about that place, that was probably good. Well, the German corporal could usually be counted on for rolling out a good tale, and he seemed to specialize in the slightly macabre or otherworldly sort.

(Now, if you wanted a story with some winks and sly inuendo or even some solid horizontal action, you took a listen to Private Brust; quite a collection of those, he had, though unfortunately a prisoner of war camp didn't provide many opportunities for working off the urges his stories left you with. And Corporal Dieter Van? Ah, it was best not to let him tell you stories at all - no, it was just best not to. For the first two, they told stories; the last, it was debatable whether he told stories or foretold futures and fates. No, best not sit down and ask him to tell you a tale. Well, don't say I didn't warn you)

"Blimey, you want to 'ave a screaming nightmare, just sit down and listen to what Langenscheidt is telling 'is mates tonight! Another one a them stories about that old castle outside a 'ammelburg. If 'alf of w'at 'e's told about that place is anywhere near true, must 'ave blood dripping down the walls even yet! Over seven 'undred years old, 'e says it is, and more nastiness gotten up to than you could shake a stick at!" Newkirk had told the rest of the Barracks, shaking his head.

For himself, he had just about all the nightmares he could stand, and didn't need any help coming up with any new ones. As he'd told Andrew yesterday, "around 'ere, Andrew, the nightmares come so fast and furious, we need to start ranking them. Like with a points system, you know? That way we can figure out if the one we just 'ad was something really spectacular or just a run a the mill terrorizing of the mind and senses sort."

Kinch had looked up from his book and started paying more attention. This looked like it could get interesting, or at least amusing. There was nothing like Newkirk and Carter going one-on-one to make for a unusual conversation. They could come up with the damnedest things!

Carter frowned in thought, "you mean like anything with a ghost gets five points, realizing you're giving a speech without any clothes on gets ten points, being caught in a cave-in . . . ".

Newkirk glared at the younger man, "could 'ave gone all day without you mentioning THAT, Andrew!" That last heavy rain had soaked the soil on the downslope side of the camp last week, enough that the tunnel leading to Barracks 7 had been undermined. When Newkirk and Kinch had waded in to assess the damage, one of the supports had given way, and they'd been caught in the quick slide of mud and timbers.

They'd been lucky the whole thing hadn't come down, but the collapsed portion had been right under the Barracks, so the foundation of the building itself helped keep the rest in place. Good thing too - not only would they have been crushed, the whole operation would have been exposed. Talk about adding insult to injury! Well, not even Klink could ignore a long u-shaped depression in the ground, especially with two recently deceased prisoners at the bottom of it!

Still, as an experience not to be re-lived, in real life or in a nightmare, that had to rank pretty high. He expected he WOULD be re-living it, though, that moment when he'd heard that odd slurppy sound, and saw the wall in front of him just dissolving. A support had clipped him upside his head, enough to daze him. If it hadn't been for Kinch reaching under the mud and broken pieces of wood and whatever else, grabbing til he latched onto Newkirk's collar and yanking him upwards, he'd have suffocated on the mud filling his nose and mouth.

He shuddered again, just thinking of it. {"Just added one more to the list of ways I'd prefer NOT to die. Not that I expect I'll be given any choice in the matter, but just in case . . ."}

Carter winced, "yeah, sorry about that. But, like I was saying, Major Hochstetter showing up in your dreams gets ten points, and . . ."

Newkirk gaped in disbelief. "Wait! 'old on 'alf a mo, Andrew! Ole Hochstetter gets the same number of points as giving a bloody talk without your pants??" he exclaimed in protest.

Carter wrinkled up his face, protesting Newkirk's protest, "well, that's a big deal to me, Peter! I mean, I'm just too scrawny to look right without my clothes. It's not like with Kinch, with all his muscles, or Olsen who looks kinda like an artist's model or something, or LeBeau who looks a little like a teddy bear only without the fur, or you. I mean, YOU could stand up there and no one would care one little bit that YOU weren't wearing any clothes! Heck, they wouldn't care even if you forgot your speech, I bet!"

Newkirk's jaw couldn't have dropped any further. Kinch had been listening to all of that with some amusement, now he gave a snort of sheer disbelief. "Andrew, I can't believe you've actually thought all that out! You probably shouldn't go around saying things like that, you know! Think about the Colonel!" He meant, 'what would the Colonel say at hearing all that', but that wasn't how Carter took it.

"Oh, that's easy. With the Colonel, it wouldn't matter, because even if he was up there without any clothes, he'd convince the audience that he WAS wearing clothes and that they were the ones who were naked. Well, you know how good he is at stuff like that."

At that moment Olsen and LeBeau entered the Barracks. "So, mes amis, what are we laughing about?" LeBeau asked with interest, seeing two of his barracks mates doubled over with laughter and Carter standing there with a bewildered look on his face. Only Carter bothered to answer at first, and then only with a seemingly sincere, "beats me!!" accompanied by a shrug.

"Not one blessed thing, Louie!" Newkirk finally gasped, giving the other two a stern warning look. Well, as stern as he could considering he was still laughing. He just felt grateful it had been Kinch listening to all of that; Kinch wouldn't be likely to give him all the teasing LeBeau would have if HE'D heard Carter's maunderings! {"I swear! Sometimes our Andrew can come up with the damnedest things!"}

Haven:

Caeide had just returned from the evening chores, had all the animals settled, water drawn for the night and morning, when the great tiredness came over her. No, she wasn't sleepy, she was tired, so tired her legs could barely carry her over the doorway of the homestead. And wasn't that odd? She'd been pleasantly weary just a few minutes ago, nothing like this bone-deep exhaustion.

The homestead was a small place, but had been home for a long time, for her and for countless others; she would miss it when she finished the new place, at least in some ways, though having to go to one of the many outbuildings for all the supplemental activities, even accessing the Library or the loom or the quilting frame, was something she would be glad to leave behind. Only three rooms it was, that homestead, with the door opening onto the kitchen - the biggest room (though still quite compact) with a small cast-iron stove at one end, the big fireplace at the other, table and chairs, storage cupboard, padded rocking chair on the hearth rug. The bedroom she was using was beyond and to the right; the other bedroom, now vacant, beyond and to the left.

Somehow, the distance seemed to stretch into infinity, well beyond any energy she had to transverse it. Not five steps into the room, she sank into a silent heap on the floor, felt her vision, her awareness fade into a mist.

Her last clear thought was {"this feels almost like when I start out on the Moon Path. Almost, but not quite the same. Almost . . ."}.

Her last clear vision? That of two men she had never seen before, standing side by side, in a uniform she did not recognize, but who looked at her with such intense entreaty that she could not look away.

{"Help us, Crimson Star. Help us and we will help them. A bargain - we swear on our honor!"}.

{"Who??"} she asked. And one last picture, faint, a small group of men, among them Peter and Andrew. And her answer had barely been formed before everything faded away.

Stalag 13:

"No, they won't accept anywhere else for a meeting. And, come on, don't you think you're all a little old to be believing in ghost stories?"

Hogan was getting a little annoyed. This wasn't like his men. Oh, they might quibble now and again about some of his plans, and even he had to admit he'd come up with some that were a little off kilter. But this, this was just a simple meet - Papa Bear and his crew with the new head of the Diebach underground. Well, not all his crew. Kinch would be staying behind, and Olsen, but it was important that this Klause meet Newkirk and Carter and LeBeau, along with Papa Bear, since Hogan was having to farm out more of the physical meets to those three, especially with the Gestapo keeping such close tabs on Hogan himself. And really, this Klause was being more than cooperative, agreeing to a meet that close to Hammelburg; it had been quite a distance for Klause and his second-in-command to travel.

"Mon Colonel, that place, it has a very bad reputation," LeBeau explained with a worried look.

"Yeah, boy, I mean, Colonel, sir," Carter interjected earnestly. "You know, Langenscheidt says . . . "

Hogan growled, "I don't want to hear any more of Langenscheidt's ghost stories."

"It aint just ghosts, you know, Gov, it's witches, and vampires, and a great bloody fog that eats a man's flesh til all that's left are bones, and . . ."

"Newkirk! Enough! We're going, tomorrow night, so just get used to the idea!"

He turned and went back into his quarters, the door shutting just a little more crisply than usual. Sometimes being a leader of men was just more aggravating than others!

Newkirk stared at that closed door, and gave an exasperated look around at the others.

"Get used to the idea," he said flatly. "Right! Let's see, w'at do I need to do to get me affairs in order? Oh, that's right, I aint got any affairs to get in order. Oh, well, that's alright then!" Newkirk snorted, as he pulled out one of his precious cigarettes from his stash, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

He squinted down at it, "I'm running low. Was going to go sparing with the rest since Red Cross packages aint due til next week, but guess there's not much sense in that now. Kinch, ole boy, if I don't make it back, you can 'ave my Red Cross package; that is, if the bloody Krauts don't come down and shoot everyone 'ere after it all goes pear shaped up there at the bleedin' castle from 'ell."

Kinch frowned, not sure whether to take that comment as Newkirk's usual sarcasm or something a bit deeper. The looks on LeBeau and Carter's face seemed to point to the latter.

In the morning they ranked their previous night's nightmares according to that new point system. They would have questioned Newkirk's high tally, accused him of cheating, except the dark circles under his eyes and the tremor in his hands seemed to support his score of 48.

"And that was with me only counting that bleedin cave-in as 20, not 60, even though I went through the blasted thing three times at least!" He refused to even discuss the rest of that high score, saying it would make his ears bleed even talking about it.

Carter wasn't too far behind, though, with a solid 30, LeBeau and Kinch tying with 25. (Kinch hadn't found that cave-in any too pleasant either, and in his dream he had been too late in finding Newkirk to do him any good. The sight of that mud-covered face, those open but empty eyes would haunt him for some time, he was sure.)

Olsen had said he wasn't sure what his score was; his dream included a bright red snake with wings wearing a sparkly tiara, along with talking skeletons, but the snake had seemed friendly enough and he couldn't understand what the skeletons were saying, so he estimated maybe a 10 at best. Kinch had taken LeBeau aside to question him about what their outside man had eaten before he took to his bunk, but the Frenchman had just shrugged, "the same as you, Kinch, the same as everyone else." Kinch cast a worried look in Olsen's direction {"Red snakes with wings and a tiara! Maybe he's coming down with something!"}

Gestapo Headquarters, Dusseldorf:

In Dusseldorf, a cackling Major Hochstetter was looking over the map on his back wall. It was a beautiful plan, and one that took advantage of not only the timing, what with General Burkhaulter still in Berlin, but of geography, and even of local legends. Burg Saaleck, Castle Saaleck was reputedly haunted, supposedly filled with all kinds of nefarious creatures - just outside Hammelburg, close enough to Luft Stalag 13 to make it a logical choice for a meeting, and with no stray civilians around to somehow disrupt his plan. What with capturing that fool who'd put himself in charge of the new 'Underground' near Diebach, convincing him that living would perhaps be better than dying, at least the sort of prolonged death that Hochstetter took such pleasure in describing, setting the trap had been amazingly simple. So simple, he thought it had no chance of failure.

Hochstetter had come to the conclusion that that was why he'd failed to capture Papa Bear before, he'd made his traps too complicated. After all Papa Bear was extremely clever, was a specialist in the complicated; that probably made it easier for the man to spot another clever man's complicated scheme. This time, though, this time Papa Bear would be his! Once and for all he would prove that he'd been right, and he would make General Burkhaulter eat all of those insulting comments! And as for that imbecile Klink! BAH!

On The Way To The Meet:

Slipping out of camp had been no problem; while the tunnel to Barracks 7 was still out of commission, the one on the other side of camp, the one that led to the woods beyond, was still dry and trustworthy. It hadn't been raining, the night was unseasonably warm, and there was a full moon to let them make their way easily. Carter, though, kept looking around nervously, stumbling over tree roots and rocks and just about everything else, whispering to himself, what sounded like prayers or entreaties of some nature, though none of it in English, til finally Hogan had whispered, "what's wrong, Carter? You need to keep your mind on what you're doing."

"I don't know, Colonel," came a whisper in return. "It just all seems too, well, easy, ya know? Weather's right, moon's right, no problem getting Schultz to look the other way, the meeting being just the right distance away, plenty of time for us to make it back for roll call. It just feels WRONG, everything being so right!"

Newkirk would have snorted at that typical Andrew comment, except he knew exactly how the younger man felt. This whole thing just had the feel of that little job up in Bingham, where it had all looked so sweet and had turned into pure shite in a heartbeat! A quick look over at LeBeau got a nod of agreement.

"Oui, mon Colonel. Andre is right. Not that it sounds like it makes much sense, but . . ."

"No, it doesn't sound like it makes much sense, because it DOESN'T! Come on, guys. Get with the program here," he grunted.

He was going to have to give some serious consideration to having Langenscheidt transferred if this kept up, or at least talk Klink into giving him a good dressing-down. It was hard enough keeping morale and enthusiasm up with his crew without some nonsense like ghost stories interferring with the works. He could just see telling London, "no, sorry, couldn't make the meet. See, there was a full moon, werewolves and ghosts and vampires might have been out, and the troops got a little nervous. Had to bow out." He snorted to himself, {"London would start asking what happened to my guys, and why I was using the local Girl Scout Troop for missions!"}

Newkirk laid a reassuring hand on Carter's shoulder, exchanged a resigned look with LeBeau and motioned them forward. They could just see the broken outline of the castle on hills above them, desolate in the moonlight, as if it were waiting. Waiting for them. Somehow, that wasn't a comforting thought.

Burg Saaleck:

Hochstetter settled his pistol more firmly in its holster. It was time. He and his men would go in the side entrance, on the other side of where the meeting would take place. One of his best men was with Klause, would make sure there would be no betrayal there. While that meeting was going on, Hochstetter and the others would make their way through the castle and come up behind them. Yes, this time Hogan, Papa Bear, would be in his grasp, and that whole operation would be destroyed, once and for all.

Somewhere, NOT Haven:

She opened her eyes, but could see little for the mist that surrounded her. The voice, though, the voice she could hear quite well, though there was an odd trilling rasp to it.

"Courage you will need, granddaughter. Courage, and wisdom, and compassion. You will have strength aplenty granted to you, but remember, you are not allowed to use that strength to deliberately kill. Annoying and inconvenient, to be sure, but even such as we have rules in such matters." Caeide refrained from an unseemly giggle at the sound of such deep-down grudging annoyance in that voice that seemed to surround her.

"You made a bargain when they called out and you heard them, and if you honor your part, the others will honor theirs. They have waited long, oh so long, for this opportunity, since the days when my name was well known among their kind, or they would have not known to call upon me. Would not have know those who will approach have some small claim on me, through you. Do not fail them, the ones who offered the bargain or the ones caught up in this series of events. But then, I know you will not fail, granddaughter. There is still enough of me in you and yours, even after all these many long years."

Caeide looked around as the mist faded, and she started to take a step forward, only to find herself falling, then airborne and tumbling. She struggled to maintain her balance, regain her control, not finding it as easy as you might think, her center of gravity no longer being where she seemed to remember it being. She fought to again become upright, and when she finally mastered what seemed to be needed to move effectively, she did so, gradually increasing her speed. As she passed over the ocean, she looked down and came close to losing her momentum (and her stomach) at what she saw reflected there. {"Oh, Sweet Mother!"} she gulped, and then refocused her eyes ahead, headed for that beacon of crimson light so far away. She felt the need to hurry, and gave a quick snap to her crimson coils, sending her forward at a rush. The fine strands of golden fluff stood tall above the crown of her head, each end topped with a tiny sparkle of light, almost like a diamond. It almost looked like she was wearing some exotic tiara or diadem, as she strained to take one last look in the waters below.

Burg Saaleck:

Hogan and his men entered through the south wall, avoiding the small cemetery on the left. Somehow LeBeau didn't think that was going to help much, but even the slightest avoidance with the powers from beyond was probably to the good. When he voiced that, Hogan had shaken his head in disgust, "actually, LeBeau, I was just thinking we'd be too well outlined against the open sky by going that way. Guys, we're going to have to have a long talk when we get back!"

He firmly made himself ignore the muttered, "if we get back, and I aint laying no odds on that, meself!"

One man waited in the antechamber, took a good look and then with a jerk of his head motioned them in through one of the long hallways.

"Klause?" Hogan asked, only to get a brisk shake of the man's head.

"He's waiting, further in." Actually, Klause had tried to get away, and had gotten his head bashed in. Unfortunate, of course, and Major Hochstetter would not be pleased, but if he were able to lure this group of men to where they could be captured, perhaps the Major would forgive.

After a wary exchange of looks, Hogan and his men followed their guide; by now, Hogan was none too easy either.

It seemed they walked for miles, but each time Hogan sought to get more information out of their guide, the less communicative the man became. Finally, it was as if the man wasn't even hearing Hogan anymore, perhaps not even seeing him, just walking on and on, turning right or left at various openings in the journey. One last turn, in through an open doorway and then their guide stopped dead in his tracks, causing Newkirk to stumble into him.

"Ei, now, let's be a little more careful," he started to complain, then his breath caught in his throat.

They were in a room, or maybe just the remains of a wide passageway leading from the prior room. There were wide cracks in the stone blocks forming the floor and the walls, Newkirk being uncomfortably reminded of that collapsing tunnel wall. The room had been filled with mist, but as they stepped forward, the mist quickly died away, and there was no impediment to their seeing what lay there.

"Ei, Colonel. Remind me, when we get back, to tell ole Langenscheidt w'at you said, that 'is stories are all a load of crock. Not that I 'ave any great 'opes of us getting back, but just in case." No, that wasn't particularly helpful, but it was certainly heartfelt.

Hogan didn't bother to answer, his attention totally on the bodies surrounding them. Well, not bodies so much. Bones, some attached to form fairly complete skeletons, some laying loose. Oh, and the skulls. Many of those were laying loose, not attached to their former bodies.

"Come on, where's Klause?" he angrily asked their guide, only to see the man standing there, not moving, no sign of life or knowledge in his open eyes. Vapor was forming, rising from a crack at the man's boots, and as they watched, it engulfed him, and to their horror, soon only some fragments of those boots were left, along with a clean and bare skeleton atop an oily dark smudge.

Vapor started to rise from other cracks, and Hogan and his men quickly moved to be sure they were out of reach of each tendril.

"Let's get out of here, Colonel," Carter urged, gulping as he looked around. This was an extremely unnerving sight, to say the least, and that slight skittering noise was really starting to bother him, especially since it was getting louder now. He glanced down at the floor again, and the hair rose on the back his neck. "Uh, Colonel??"

"What, Carter?!!" Hogan snapped, then followed the line of vision to where Carter was looking so intently. Somehow, he knew skulls weren't supposed to do that, that slow opening and closing of their jaws. And surely, they weren't supposed to move like that either, little skittery noises as they and the other shattered bones scraped over the stone floor.

As one, they were making their way back to the entrance when they heard the voices behind them, "you are trapped! Do not think to escape! I have you now, Papa Bear!" and they all recognized Hochstetter's triumphant voice.

They had turned at the sound of that voice, and now turned back to the room, desperately searching for any way out. There was a doorway, just an open arch, in the far wall, but it might prove an escape route. Unfortunately, what lay between them now was that seething mass of bones, skeletal hands reaching out as if to grab their ankles, skulls with eyeholes watching them, jaws snapping.

And then, in the open chamber above them, a figure appeared, one both beautiful and deadly, a large crimson serpent wearing a diadem of stars, her tiny wings almost lost against her glowing scales. A hiss echoed through the stone walls as she announced her arrival, and the bones stopped their movement. Two skeletons, more complete than the others, stood upright, and gradually the missing pieces filled in, til, except for the flesh, two whole men stood there facing Hogan and the others.

A voice, a man's voice, declared, "a bargain was made. We will do our part," and the bones covering the floor moved, helter skelter, tumbling over each other in haste to clear a way. One bony arm pointed to the doorway beyond. "Go. It would be best not to return."

Hogan and the team moved quickly but cautiously through the narrow pathway now open to them, only breathing easy when they had reached the other side and found themselves back at the outer castle wall, not far from where they'd entered. There was no time for words, no time for delay, considering Hochstetter might have left others on guard outside, might be following behind. Though they rather thought even Hochstetter might quibble at passing through that room of bones.

In fact, Hochstetter and his men had just reached the room Hogan and his men had just left. When the two in the lead stopped suddenly and started backing up, the Major impatiently pushed them to one side.

"Imbeciles! Go in and get them! What are you waiting for??" He was the first to step across the threshold; actually, he was the only one to step across the threshold, and only long enough to let out a screech and tumble backwards. Somehow, two standing skeletons, a room full of moving bones, topped by a rapidly coiling and uncoiling flying crimson serpent was too much even for his hardened nerves. They fled, those doughty men of the Gestapo.

The room was silent now, and the two upright skeletons turned to face the serpent, now hovering in front of them. It shimmered, then the form was replaced by a form perhaps more human-like but no less impressive.

"A bargain made, a bargain kept." It was a gentle yet powerful voice, one both kind and stern. One glowing hand reached up to her face, one finger touched the teardrop resting on those long lashes. First one did she touch with that tear, then she repeated the gesture, gathering a second tear from her other eye to touch the second.

"A bargain made, a bargain kept, a bargain fulfilled. May it bring you all you desired." And with a shimmer, then a flick of her coils, she was gone.

Flesh now flowed over the two upright skeletons, and for just an instant, they looked into each other's faces for the first time in more than a century, maybe far, far longer. Slowly one reached out to clasp the other's shoulder, and a knowing smile came to each of them.

"The others . . ." The words were only a fluttering in the air.

"The others have gone on."

"You? Me?"

"No. As before, there is no 'You', no 'Me'. There is, as always, 'We'!" And there was nothing else that needed to be said.

In the room, the stones cracked wider and the vapor became more intense, til all was obscured. And when the vapor dissipated, the room was empty. Well, except for that one pile of bones at the doorway. He hadn't been one of them; he hadn't belonged; he hadn't been part of the bargain.

{"Hogan! I don't know how you did this, but I will get you! I will make you pay for making me a laughing stock in front of my men!"}

Hochstetter and his men had reached their vehicles, only to find them scorched and blackened, still usable, but as if someone had taken a blowtorch to them. It took longer than you might have thought to get them going again, though, and the tires having been rather melted made for a bumpy ride.

"Schnell! Let's go! Mach Schnell!!"

"Where to, Herr Major?" one man stuttered. He would have thought back to Gestapo Headquarters would have been the logical place to go (or the closest establishment that would serve them hard liquor), but that wasn't what Hochstetter had in mind.

"Where do you think, dummkopf?!! To Stalag 13. This time I know Hogan can't be there; this time I will PROVE it!"

Stalag 13:

But of course, Hogan was there, sleepy-eyed and bleary-eyed and drowsy from having been awakened so unceremoniously. Schultz ignored the complaining from the bunks at his having turned on the lights unexpectedly.

"See, Herr Major! Just as I told you! He is right here, where he should be. And where else would he be, I ask you? I must remind you this is Stalag 13, the toughest prisoner of war camp in all of Germany! We have never had . . ."

"Ah, Bah! Shut up Klink! Back to your office, now!!"

Haven:

Caeide awakened to a Call, shivering in the cold midnight air, surprised to find herself naked and on the floor of the kitchen, fireplace cold and empty. Dressing quickly, she felt the need to be outside, and once there, saw the two bright lights spiraling high across the sky, then falling to earth. She knew what she had to do, but it was still full dark, which meant she had to go on foot, not willing to risk one of the horses in that rough footing. She also knew she couldn't wait til morning's light or she'd risk never finding what she sought. It was an easy searching, as if she was being led, finding the two burning hot meteorites, each the size of a quail's egg, black, with small regmaglypts patterning their surface.

Back at the homestead, she'd sat the two pieces on the table in front of her as she prepared the letter she would be sending to the Grandmother at Homeland. Perhaps this would help fill in one more piece of the picture, the puzzle, that was her Family. The mystery that was Clan O'Donnell. She doubted that picture would ever be complete, it was simply too vast, but each scrap that could be added was valuable to her Family.

She'd never heard the name Crimson Star mentioned in all the family history she'd studied; certainly never heard mention of the figure she'd seen in reflected in the water as she sped along on her journey. Not a Dragon as she knew them, as they were described by the scrolls, not like her younger sister, perhaps more like a Chinese Dragon, at least the paintings she had seen of those beings. Yet, this Crimson Star had called her 'granddaughter', spoke of how there was still some of her in Caeide and the others. Everything she could think of from her experience she poured onto the paper in front of her. Whether it would be of use or not, at least it would add to the history of her people, and it was her obligation to provide what she could to the Grandmother and the scribes.

She wished so much she could ask questions, could know how these two had known Peter was hers to care for, and through him, Andrew as well. How they knew to petition this Crimson Star, and how that petition had ended up with her. So many things she wished she knew. She sighed, "ah, well. Maybe they will visit me in my dreams and tell me more. If nothing else, I would like to know their names. If they are to dwell in my house, it seems I SHOULD know their names."

When she'd finished her tale, she'd studied the two small meteorites closely, then placed them on the mantle above the fireplace, side by side but several inches apart. But seeing them from across the room, she'd realized that wasn't right, and so had shifted the two objects until they were no longer separate, but side by side, matching perfectly along one side, though not joined.

The next morning she would find them fused together, forming one thing of wonder. No, not 'them'. Jin and Gao. Somehow she knew that was how they called themselves, each other, just as she knew they had been lovers, strong and faithful and steadfast, even as they made their way as soldiers for a long dead member of nobility, before being caught in the trap that was Berg Saaleck. Jin and Gao - and so she would greet them in the morning, and bid them a fair night at the close of day, and it seemed as if the warm puff of air against her cheek was a greeting in return.

They would stay there, on the fireplace mantle, until they were moved to the new homestead, where they would join all else that had been and would be gathered in by Haven during its history and future, a symbol of faith, and hope and courage and determination. A symbol of love that withstands all obstacles. A symbol of all that Haven stood for.

And if sometimes she and others could almost make out two male forms making their easy way around the house and grounds, comfortably side by side, well, that was hardly the most unusual sight Haven had ever experienced, not by a long shot. Just two more members of an ever-growing Clan of Family and Friends, that's how those at Haven looked at it; scarcely anything to be alarmed about or exclaimed over.

Stalag 13:

Klink was having a meltdown in his office, hovering over a glass of schnapps and shivering in reaction to all the screaming that had been going on. A furious and still raving Hochstetter, along with his goons, had just pulled out in their smoke-damaged and slightly charred vehicles, and General Burkhaulter was still laughing his head off as his car left Berlin. That indignant phone call from Klink, the one Hochstetter had commandeered in order to rant some wild and delusional tirade about bones and Hogan and mists dissolving one of his men and them setting fire to his vehicles and melting his tires, it had been one of the funniest things he'd heard in a long time. And at, of all places, Burg Saaleck. Burkhaulter had greatly enjoyed asking Hochstetter, "but isn't that where the two Nazi heroes, Kern and Fischer are buried? That is hardly a place the Underground would choose to carry out any operations, surely. And it doesn't seem properly respectful for the Gestapo to be doing so either. There are far too many uncomfortable stories about that place, anyway. I'd avoid it in the future, if I were you, Major."

Hogan looked around at his Command Crew and just shook his head, "well, we pulled it off, though I'm not sure how. From now on, anyone suggests a rendezvous at the castle, just give them a flat out no! No, I don't believe the legends. No, I don't put any credence in Langenscheidt's tall stories. NO, I don't believe any of that really happened, at least, not the way we thought we saw it. I DO believe that vapor is coming from below the ground somewhere, probably a naturally forming gas, and that it causes some wild hallucinations. Still, it makes it impossible to function effectively, so we just stick clear of the place, that's all."

None of the team argued with him. After all, they agreed wholeheartedly with his solution, if not his assessment. In fact, later, after Hogan had left to go play chess with Klink, they had filled Kinch and Olsen in on the happenings, with Newkirk giving a firm shake of his head, "don't think Langensheidt knows the 'alf of it, Kinch!" Though he and the other two who'd gone on that little expedition did give Olsen an odd look, him with his dreams of a flying crimson snake wearing a tiara, and talking skeletons.

Hogan had come back well before lights out, having winkled some new information out of Klink.

"Now, about that next job London wants us to pull. I'll meet the contact at the hotel in town; problem is, there's a city council meeting the same time the contact will be there, and Klink is going to be there to mix and mingle and suck-up to the local authorities. Well, along with gorging himself on all the mini-bratwurst and schnapps they intend to serve. With their meeting rooms out of commission from that burst pipe, they're going to be meeting right in the lobby. So we're going to have to come up with something to distract everyone at that meeting so they don't notice all sneaking around I'm going to have to be doing. It's got to be something good, something that would keep their whole attention. Anyone got any bright ideas?" He reached out and pulled the coffee pot off the stove, pouring himself a cup of almost-coffee. Oh, he knew he'd be the one to have to come up with the right idea, but it made them feel good to think they were part of the planning process.

They thought and pondered, cast out a few ideas, none of which sounded all that promising, and then Kinch looked up, steady and calm and sensible, as befitted a second-in-command, "well, we could always have Newkirk give a speech; that would get everyone's undivided attention, probably keep it for as long as you need," watching their Cockney teammate slyly, waiting for when the penny would drop. While everyone else was still sitting around looking bewildered, it would take both Carter and Kinch slapping the Englishman on the back repeatedly before he got over that coughing spell from inhaling his last swig of coffee in one gulp.

Later, eyes streaming, still uttering the odd little cough, he just refused to talk to them, sitting crosslegged in Carter's bunk, back against the wall, arms stubbornly crossed over his chest, glaring at Kinch, then at Carter, and back again. At the repeated urging from LeBeau for an explanation, they got only a muttered snarl, "just let it alone, Louie! Just don't nobody mention the w'ole bloody idea again, alright??! And as for you, Andrew, you can just stop it right now!!"

Everyone looked at Andrew, at that look of total innocence on that slightly narrow face, and wondered what Newkirk was blathering on about, since Carter wasn't doing anything except watching attentively, though perhaps with just a tiny reflective smile.

Well, all except Kinch, who'd caught a glimpse of that deviltry he STILL had such a hard time associating with Carter; HE knew what Andrew was supposed to STOP, right enough. He muffled that snicker by disguising it as a cough of his own.


End file.
